‘May I sit down?’
‘Please.’
Miller sat beside him, so they both faced towards the river Elbe. A giant dry-cargo ship, the Kota Maru out of Yokohama, was easing downriver on the tide.
‘I’m afraid Herr Tauber is dead.’
The old man stared at the passing ship. He showed neither grief nor surprise, as if such news was brought frequently. Perhaps it was.
‘I see,’ he said.
Miller told him briefly about the events of the previous Friday night.
‘You don’t seem surprised. That he killed himself.’
‘No,’ said Marx, ‘he was a very unhappy man.’
‘He left a diary, you know.’
‘Yes, he told me once about that.’
‘Did you ever read it?’ asked Miller.
‘No, he never let anybody read it. But he told me about it.’
‘It described the time he spent in Riga during the war.’
‘Yes, he told me he was in Riga.’
‘Were you in Riga too?’
The man turned and looked at him with sad old eyes.
‘No, I was in Dachau.’
‘Look, Herr Marx, I need your help. In his diary your friend mentioned a man, an SS officer, called Roschmann. Captain Eduard Roschmann. Did he ever mention him to you?’
‘Oh, yes. He told me about Roschmann. That was really what kept him alive. Hoping one day to give evidence against Roschmann.’
‘That’s what he said in his diary. I read it after his death. I’m a press reporter. I want to try and find Roschmann. Bring him to trial. Do you understand?’
‘Yes.’
‘But there’s no point if Roschmann is already dead. Can you remember if Herr Tauber ever learned whether Roschmann was still alive and free?’
Marx stared out at the disappearing stern of the Kota Maru for several minutes.
‘Captain Roschmann is alive,’ he said simply. ‘And free.’
Miller leaned forward earnestly.
‘How do you know?’
‘Because Tauber saw him.’
‘Yes, I read that. It was in early April 1945.’
Marx shook his head slowly.